


everything's coming up roses

by ohhstark



Category: GLOW (TV 2017)
Genre: F/M, Fix-It, Season 3 fix-it, because I still have a lot of feelings about That Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-13
Updated: 2020-02-13
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:49:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22687261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohhstark/pseuds/ohhstark
Summary: Sometimes she thinks she does things, complicates things, because she wants to be the kind of person that Things happen to.
Relationships: Sam Sylvia/Ruth Wilder
Comments: 9
Kudos: 33





	everything's coming up roses

Her life is like a movie. Not in the funny coincidences, meet-cute, hilarious misunderstanding that turns out alright in the end, kind of way. More in the self-destructive, melodramatic, Starving Artist As The Dream kind of way. 

Sometimes she thinks she does things, complicates things, because she wants to be the kind of person that Things happen to. But it’s more than that. She likes the _idea_ of being the kind of girl who fucks her best friend’s husband. She likes the _idea_ of selling and giving away all her meager possessions so she can move to Vegas and play at the Fan-Tan every night. She likes the _idea_ of being in a healthy relationship with a nice guy while pining away for a man who by all rights shouldn’t even be a contender, but somehow wormed his way under her skin with his soft smiles and razor-sharp wit. 

She likes the idea of this girl because it’s a fantasy. It’s a part. And if she can play that part well enough, then she won’t have to play herself. 

So she fucks her best friend’s husband. She doesn’t call Russell in Spain, hasn’t called him since he stepped off the tarmac at LAX. And when things are finally, _finally_ going right between her and Sam. When he kisses her and she winds her fingers through his salt and pepper hair. When they wait for his car and his hands are hot and heavy on her hips. When he stops her and tells her the truth about the part in Justine’s movie like a fucking gentleman. When he calls himself a Hollywood sleazebag like he honestly believes it. And she doesn’t argue it, which is just as damning as if she’d said the words herself. That’s when she realizes it, so deep in her bones that it stops her heart and she can’t breathe around it. 

She’s been so wrapped up in the idea of That Girl, of the part she’s playing, that she’s forgotten that under the bluster and the makeup and the leotards, she’s still Ruth. She’s not That Girl and she never was. She was just Ruth all along and when she can admit that, she can finally own up to her mistakes. She can finally own up to being the asshole that she really is. She can stop blaming it on alcohol, on feeling sorry for herself, on a fucking part in a movie that she didn’t get. And maybe then she can stop punishing herself and just own it. 

She stumbles forward before she knows what she’s doing. 

“Sam, wait-,” she says, her heart in her throat and her lungs cut to ribbons as she pulls in a shallow breath. 

He looks over at her and she thinks he’s going to drive away anyway. He looks over at her and she thinks maybe she’s finally made him hate her at last. He sighs and hangs his head for a second and she has to bite her lip when she catches sight of his still disheveled hair. Then he’s looking over at her again and shooting her that skeptical, narrowed-eyed look that makes her stomach flip.

“Get in here already,” he says, reaching over to push the door open for her. She has to bite the inside of her cheek to stop from smiling as she slides into his car. It smells like cigarettes in here and maybe a little like spilled alcohol. It smells just like she remembers. It smells like home. 

“I’m sorry,” she says, because that’s all she can think to say. His eyes are wary and his shoulders are hunched like he’s preparing himself for another blow. Like he’s just waiting for her to take another swing at him. She hates that he looks like that because of her. He’s grumpy and he’s rude. He’s one of the most ornery, impossible people she’s ever known and she loves him so much that she can’t breathe around it sometimes. And if she can’t think of anything more to say to him than this, then what does that say about how much she really loves him. What does that say about what she thinks he deserves.

“I’m upset that I didn’t get the part. Obviously,” she says, unable to stop rolling her eyes at herself. Her skin is so tight and her heart is beating so fast she’s sure it’s about to pop out of her chest. She looks at a spot just above his left shoulder. She resolutely does not look into his eyes because if she does, she’ll be lost, and she has to get this out, whatever _this_ is before her courage fails her.

“But I meant what I said. I’m in love with you. I have been for a while, I just didn’t...I wouldn’t admit it to myself until after you said you loved me.”

“Told you you were lying to yourself,” he says and immediately closes his mouth when she fixes him with a half-hearted glare. 

“Do you have to…” she lets herself trail off as she watches him watching her. There’s a smile tucked into the corner of his mouth. It’s skeptical, like he can’t quite figure her out, like he can’t understand exactly what they’re doing here. But it’s there and that means something.

“Spit it out already,” he says, no real heat behind the words. He’s still smiling that half-smile that kind of feels like flying and definitely feels like falling.

“Do you have to be such a fucking asshole all the time?” she says and surges through the distance between them. She grabs him by the lapels of his jacket and presses her mouth firmly to his. He’s warm and his lips are soft as he kisses her back. It’s not forgiveness, but it feels close enough to it that she leans back and gives him her most winning smile, the one that feels like it’s going to tear her face in half if she doesn’t stop. This might be the first time in as long as she can remember that it isn’t forced. 

“I don’t see what the point of not being one is. You’re hot for me either way,” he says, laughing. Against all decency, against all logic, a bolt of arousal shoots through her. All the way down to her toes. They curl inside her shoes and she has to lean back into the passenger seat to stop from crawling into his lap. His smile drops off his face and he looks like he’s about to do something stupid like apologize, so she just squeezes his hand. 

“Why don’t we go back to your place and you can find out how hot for you I am,” she says, trying for sexy and ending up somewhere nearer to desperate. But if the surprised, secretly pleased grin on his face is anything to go by, it’s working on him. 

“You got it, Strindberg.”

He peals away from the curb. The echo of her laughter and the smell of burnt rubber trailing away on the road behind them. He takes her hand, presses it to his lips, and she knows she’s not the only one that’s desperate.

**Author's Note:**

> So I'm still feeling a lot of things about this scene and I'm probably just going to beat this thing up a million different times until the last season comes out. I can't believe that this is the end of these two when we waited three entire seasons of slow burn for them to finally kiss. So here's to hope and here's to finding this wonderful, beautiful section of fandom.


End file.
